Truth like Water
by Unanon
Summary: River sees more than anyone would like.
1. The Crew

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Truth Like Water

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River sees more than anyone would like.

Notes: No copyright infringement of any sort is intended in this or subsequent chapters.

The Crew

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They say she's moody, temperamental, an unknown quantity and therefore can't be trusted. The words shout from behind their eyes along with careful pats on her arm as they pass her in the corridors. River knows they won't voice these things out loud unless circumstance or danger brings them to the fore, but she still feels the words the same way she feels the prick every time Simon slips the needle (so many needles) into her arm.

The soft inside of River's arm has scars. Small, hard knots that show puncture upon punctures. She's a gorram junkie dressed up in baby-doll castoffs like some prairie child's plaything (and maybe she is). Serenity knows, but she's the only one who doesn't tell River much anymore. She's a ship and ships are women and women all carry secrets inside them that they'll never tell about death and life and shelter in need.

Some (Jayne) say she's a gorram freak and should be kept in check. Those that don't say it with their lips whisper it quiet-like so only River hears. They whisper it right next to their circular riddles of 'what if she knows, can she know, will she say?' One murmur covers the other, but River hears them all.

They say she's distant and doesn't let them in, so River laughs and squeezes her eyes shut, imagining bee sting kisses sewing her lips together tight. Never tell, never tell, and never tell. They're all so naked in front of her, and ain't not a one of them who isn't afraid.

A couple of them imply that she's pretty. They hide this too, fearful and fumbling, desperate to smother those truths because they don't want to suss out what they mean…not really. It's too much to think about, a truth they can't handle. But River knows. Thoughts like that keep her warm in her cabin when Serenity's powered down for the artificial night. River sits cross-legged on her bed and uses her fingers, her long bony fingers, to tease out the secrets that keep her toasty.

River's always untying knots that no one wants to see. She smoothes the knobby edges away and the next day Simon and Kaylee are smiling again without anyone being the wiser. Some knots are easy because they want to be untied. Serenity is a secret-woman and a ship and they're all sailors; sailor's lives are full of knots.

They don't let her out of their sight planet-side. Sure there's always the threat of Feds or bounty hunters (Jubal put the fear into them right good he did). They haven't seen a lick of Alliance blue in months, but there's always more-more-more where Early came from and Mal worries. She's flighty, they say; she'll wander off and cause a ruckus.

Perhaps. But River knows that's not why Mal makes Jayne keep an eye on her when he has to take Simon in as a face-man. It's not why Book always seems to linger in the shadows cradling the Word…Word…words he holds so precious, so tight, wanting to believe them unquestioningly because he's got to hold onto something, anything.

It's because of the secrets. They've all got secrets and they know she's seen them. They know she knows and ain't a one of them wants those secrets out. It's easy, it's better to say that River's capricious, that River's a risk.

The better to keep an eye on her, my pretty.

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	2. Inara

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Inara

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The walls of Inara's shuttle bleed deep reds and darkness and, curled up in the center of the Companion's bed, River listens. Serenity's engines throb, a distant heartbeat that never dims, even when the crimson fades behind River's eyelids. Shutting eyes isn't shutting ears but it's simpler to process less data. The shuttle is enveloping, velvety soft. It's warm and nurturing in a way the rest of Serenity isn't.

"Womb-room," she whispers to herself. "Full of hopes and potential that will never become real unless seeded."

"What was that, sweetie?" Inara's voice is cultured honey-gushing mild concern as she steps through the doorway, skirts rustling. "I didn't hear you."

River doesn't answer. She rolls away from Inara, from fine powders and perfumes and expensive soaps that make her nostrils twitch. Pressure light flashes bright behind her eyelids as she squeezes them tight, tighter, tightest. Fingers creep up to sausage stuff her ears, but then she can't hear Serenity's heart and the womb disappears behind a false front of bed and rich hangings. Tears prickle her eyes at the unfairness.

River counts backward in primes as reality adjusts. Little tricks, little foolings for the part of her brain that got sliced away in transparent thin sections like sandwich meat. They bit into it, those blue-hand men. They ate bits of her thoughts, nibble-nibble chew, until her soul was one-way mirror glass and she could peer into anyone she pleased.

She rolls again and opens her eyes a crack, a pretense of blindness, to watch the Companion as she makes tea. A ceremony, a tradition, meaning only what one wants it to mean. But it's pretty, oh so precise, and Inara's technique is always perfect, even when she doesn't have clients to impress.

Inara's always flawless, always careful to show that lacquered veneer. She reminds River of a _Coleoptera _display one of her father's colleagues had in his home, a relic of earth-that-was. The beetle's jeweled carapaces had gleamed like tumbled stones through the clear ripple of the sterile security barrier but River's finger felt their fragility through alarms and embarrassed reprimands.

Inara is hollow too, all brightness concealing the rotten apple core. Tasty shiny outside and flesh, but there are no viable seeds, not anymore. The womb-room is lies-lies deception; it's a façade concealing barrenness of body, if not of heart.

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"Yes. Great. I wish you hundreds of fat children."

River knows because Inara's no different than any of Serenity's passengers. Ain't a one of them don't have an empty bit, something missing they don't know how to replace…won't even admit they wanted. Ain't a one of them hasn't wondered about potential lost along the way.

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Can you imagine that? Me with a passel of critters underfoot?

No, not a one.

River cradles the cup Inara has filled for her for a full minute before taking a sip. The tea slides down her throat, its flavor mingling in her nostrils with the Companion's incense. Myrrh. Bitterness. The liquid tastes the same but she doesn't make a face. It just tastes like truth, and River is accustomed to the flavor.

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End file.
